


Ripple in the Pond

by thateliz



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 02:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16567538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thateliz/pseuds/thateliz
Summary: Peking Duck finds a survivor in the ashes.





	Ripple in the Pond

Amidst the smoke of this city-wide funeral pyre, there was one who lay sprawled in the ashes. Motionless, soundless, partly eaten by the fire but very much alive.

The flames had dwindled, enough for tears not to evaporate as they dropped. Resentment made it boil and sear as they pooled in the eyes, however, drawing trails of soot on blistered skin.

Night came as quiet as death. Ashes mingled with the wind, erasing all clues of several generations. But memories, fresh, continued to see the inferno and feel its rage, could still smell life being devoured, could still hear the sounds of collapse and the cries and the screams.

What head-splitting roars. Fathers were still yelling, accusing, disparaging the food souls resigning to their fate. Children were still clawing on their mothers, crying, screaming as flames licked the walls.

Palms bearing down on the ears helped nothing. They were so loud. Screaming with them could not overwhelm theirs, for they were unremitting and they all refused to stop.

-<>-

The matches that had ignited the spark had all been reduced to nothing but scorch marks on the earth, but the rock to which it struck was intact, if a little discoloured by the blaze. It had observed while everything was erased, and stayed to wallow and revel in the aftermath.

Peking ambled through the rubble, guided by the lone screaming. For countless hours in the dark he listened to the anguish until the moons revealed the source: a thrashing creature on the ground wearing out its lungs as it raged to the heavens.

He approached, watched until it was spent and howling out silence from a mouth that bled. 

Mismatched eyes anchored on him, flashing in recognition. Its body relaxed, but its gaze continued to flay him, inviting him to complete his undertaking.

There was no protest when Peking lifted the food soul from the ashes. Bloodstained and damaged, its weight was light and heavy at the same time.

Accomplishments merited trophies, and this was his. 

-<>-

Weeks of wearing bandages turned it to armour, effective against inconsequential remarks that were part of polite conversation. Stormy glances made disinterest clear, but unfortunately never deterred the questions from the scholarly medic or the chain-smoking historian who refused to be dismissed.

Both would encroach upon the silence whenever the day started and ended, carrying sustenance that was always untouched. Except for the tall glass, which never lasted a minute before being emptied. That encouraged their daily return.

The plum-based concoctions were like acid, burning the empty stomach but melting away the infirmity and, slowly, this cloud in judgement that maintained the passivity and blank numbness.

 _Soon_ , the golden energies crackling in the air promised. Very soon. 

-<>-

Ash and soot were normal occurrences in the hands and clothing of a pipe-smoker, hence the constant presence of a dark wiping cloth to which the dottle could blend in. Peking used his sleeves, which habitually rubbed into the pipe whether empty or full.

Compared to the rest he appeared effortlessly clean, if one would not search for the black stains hidden on the underside of his cuffs.

In his quiet place full of water and sunlight his still-recovering trophy trespassed again. It never spoke, or possibly could not anymore. But then words were unnecessary when those inharmonious eyes told him everything he needed to know.

Minutes passed watching the ducklings swim in the pond. Peking stretched his legs, glancing at his standing companion.

‘Won’t you sit?’

All of the ducklings suddenly sank. They reappeared after a few seconds, chirping in distress. 

Peking raised a brow. ‘Must you do that?’

They sank again, deeper this time and with force enough to drown a few. Once released, the ducklings rushed back to the grass and huddled by Peking’s ankles. Some remained floating and unmoving, webbed feet to the air and heads in the water.

That, and the eyes that promised more, was answer enough.

-<>-

The pull of a covenant called forth. Peking resisted, at least until after the proper farewells and last instructions. Yuxiang and Plum Juice took heed, committing to their dwelling until they themselves are summoned.

Peking took off his monocle, asking his trophy to fill it with energy.

‘This way you can find me,’ he answered the unvoiced question. ‘Whenever you are ready for your vengeance.’

Mismatched eyes flashed with wordless pledge.

In his trophy’s glowing palm the chains expanded, golden energy curling and solidifying into an ornament that followed the shape of Peking’s ears and fitted perfectly on his temple.

This weight will be a constant reminder of the cycle he had started.

‘Until then, be well.’

 -<>-

‘Why do you always watch the water?’ his master asked, joining him in the large windowsill that overlooked the sea. ‘You’re waiting for something?’

‘Yes,’ Peking said with a smile. ‘For the waves to bring in my deliverance.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is me protesting at the lack of Peking content. And listening to Elgar's Cello Concerto had filled my head with burning things, so this happened. :D
> 
> Also writing Peking is the best way to learn all the possible synonyms of "Burn" and "Fire" lol


End file.
